


Get A Clue

by theantepenultimateriddle



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Detective AU, F/F, F/M, M/M, everyone is a detective, except gamzee he's not in this bc he makes me uncomfortable
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-04-10 23:50:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4412777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theantepenultimateriddle/pseuds/theantepenultimateriddle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which everyone is a detective in some way, shape, or form.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

DAVE  
The detective thing was all John’s idea in the beginning. He needed some way to get inspiration for some weird creative writing thing he was working on and I needed something to do in between classes, other than being bored listening to music and updating my blogs all day. We didn’t think it would get out of control, because we’re just college students, right? But it happened and we got in trouble and basically royally fucked up in every way possible and now here I am, actually trying to figure out this “mystery”. Got to say, it makes doing fuckall all day look pretty good.  
I have to say, though, it would never have gotten as bad as it did if Lalonde hadn’t gotten that stupid degree online and decided to actually use it, like it qualifies her to do anything besides sit in an air-conditioned room all day, eating chocolate while she tries to decide how obscure she could phrase something without making it sound too sincere. But according to Miss fucking Conan-Doyle over here, the only way she could ever expect to write a half-decent mystery is by “having the experience”, which apparently includes almost dying several times and discovering some pretty shocking stuff. Now that I think about it that actually doesn’t sound that much different from the stuff I’ve seen her write. Just lacking a wizard up in this shitmix.  
Anyways, it started the day we met Jane Crocker. Yeah, Crocker like the baking company. Jane’s some kind of heiress for the company, super-rich and famous and stuff, but she prefers the private detective industry. I’d ask why but it would interfere with not giving a shit. Probably has something to do with her partner in the detective business. Miss Terezi Pyrope. But I didn’t meet her until much later.  
We first met Jane sometime in August, on a day that was so hot that Satan’s fiery, flaming asshole could have farted on us and the only noticeable difference would be the smell. I’d just gotten out of class, and as usual I was standing around waiting for John to solve whatever “crime” some freshman had entrusted him to solve. “So tell me again John” I said, leaning back on the brick wall of the campus library, “When did my life become something out of the Hardy Boys or Nancy Drew or some shit? I mean we’re out here in the thousand-degree heat trying to solve like the case of the missing pencil-“  
“We’re not searching for a missing pencil dumbass!” interjected John Egbert, nerdboy extraordinaire, from his position about three feet below me kneeling on the asphalt of the bike path searching for clues and completely ignoring the heat waves coming off of it. “Like I’ve told you before, this is a highly sensitive mission in order to reclaim our client’s missing biology notes from whoever stole them, and I for one will not rest until the perpetrator of this crime is locked up!”  
I squinted at John behind my shades, wondering how he could endure this super-brightness from behind just normal glasses. Despite the heat of the day, he didn’t even look like he was sweating. Then I rolled my eyes. “Egbert, look, I’m sure it’s like noble and shit to go around town searching for people’s lost stuff but right now it’s a day so hot that I’m having trouble telling where the sweat ends and my body begins. Is it really that necessary to find whoever-the-fuck’s missing bio notes right now? I mean they probably just gave them to the TA and then forgot about it. “  
John sighed heavily. “Dave, you don’t understand. It’s more complicated than that.”  
“Yeah? How so? Is she paying us because that’s something I could get behind.”  
“No you idiot! She’s not paying us! We’re providing this service for free because we have to- ow!” John stopped talking and started lying on the asphalt holding his hand, probably because it had just been run over by some girl on a bike. “Owwww” he groaned again, holding his hand “I think it’s broken”. I pulled myself off the wall and knelt by him to check on him while the chick on the bike skidded to a stop like five feet away. She came running over to us.  
“Oh, shucks buster,” she said, kneeling next to me beside John. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there until it was too late. Can I help?” I looked up at her. She had glasses and black hair, like John, and a slight overbite.  
“Nah, it’s fine,” I said, turning to John. “Egbert here needed to learn to be more careful anyways.” Before he could say anything, I said “Make a fist.” He did. I checked out his hand. “Not broken, but you might have some bruising in the shape of tire tracks.” John groaned.  
“Dave you douchebag, why didn’t you tell me someone was coming?”  
“Because,” I said, “I figured that if you want to kneel on the bike path it’s your shitty decision. Plus I didn’t see her coming any more than you did.”  
John finally looked up at the girl who had run him over, who was standing up by now. “Hi, I’m John,” he said, holding out his other hand. “Jane Crocker,” she said, pulling him upright. Then she turned to me. “And you are?” I stood up and brushed myself off before reaching out my hand. “Dave Strider. Nice to meet you.” She shook my hand firmly and then turned to John again.  
“You’re positive you’re not hurt?” she asked him. John tested out his hand again.  
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure Dave’s right and nothing’s broken. Sorry for scaring you,” he said.  
“You’re apologizing?” she exclaimed, obviously pretty surprised. “It was my fault! I should have looked, and I’m so sorry. Anyways, I should better get going,” she said, walking back towards her bike. As she pedaled away, I turned back to John. “Dude, she sort of looked like you, but hot. Like if you had a hot teenaged mom or something.” John turned bright red and punched me in the shoulder. “Shut up.” He looked out after her. “Wait, she dropped something,” he said, running after her and picking up a piece of paper that had probably fallen out of her pocket or something. “Jane,” he yelled. “Jane! You dropped something!” But she was long gone.  
“Face it, dude,” I said, “Your hot mom has probably pedaled back home by now. Don’t worry, though, you can have a family reunion later.” John didn’t respond, so I looked at him.  
“Dave…” he said, holding up the piece of paper. “Look.” He pointed to the name in the corner.  
“Aranea Serket,” I read. “Sounds familiar, but not like someone I know. What is it?”  
“Well it can’t be…..” John trailed off as he read the page. “Aranea was our client’s name, Dave. I think these are her bio notes.”  
I blinked twice. “OK, that was a cool dramatic revelation there, but seriously can we go inside because I think I’m going to die from heat exhaustion soon.”


	2. Chapter 2

JANE  
As soon as the dame walked through the door, I knew there would be trouble. But then, there usually is with dames. People call me Jane Crocker, presumably because it says so on my door. I’m a private investigator, been working in this city for nearly all my adult life. Business can be tough in the PI circuit, but when it is, I’m tougher. I learned how to be early on. After all, you don’t go from being an heiress with her own fortune, house, and fleet of private luxuries to a gritty office in the middle of nowhere without a fight. But I got what I want in the end. I usually do.   
I casually inquired as to what the dame was doing in my office. She sat down in the chair I reserve for my customers and leaned back, crossing her arms and legs in the process and smiling broadly. She was clearly blind behind her red-tinted sunglasses, and she carried the cane to prove it. I asked her again. “What the hell are you doing in my office?”   
This time she deigned to respond, in her loud, slightly gravelly voice. “Jane, this is my office too. We’re partners, remember? I know you’ve been roleplaying again but could you please get your feet off the desk, we have a client coming in fifteen minutes.”   
I pulled my feet down from the table and sat up from my reclining position. “Sorry,” I said to my longtime partner, Terezi Pyrope. Then I realized. “Wait, how did you know my feet were on the desk? You’re blind!”   
She laughed. “Would you believe me if I said it was a lucky guess?”   
I shook my head. “You’re always saying that luck doesn’t exist. So what tipped you off?”   
“Mostly the fact that I could hear paper crinkling, and let’s face it Jane, I’m the only person doing paperwork around here,” Terezi answered with an infuriating smirk.   
I scowled in response to this. “I do paperwork! Just… only on Tuesdays.” Before she could respond, I continued “Anyways, what do we have on our client?”   
Terezi searched through the files on our desk, running her fingers over their Braille titles, before she picked up a file from the desk and handed it to me. I rifled through it, eventually pulling out a few pieces of paper. “Aranea Serket. 18 years old, currently in her first year of college here. Lives in a dorm room in the Locke building on campus and works part-time at the library and at Starbucks. She’s contracting us to find her missing half-sister Vriska, who’s been missing for almost seven years, which is a long time to be missing.” I looked up from the file. Terezi had gone pale and was clutching the edge of the desk. “What’s wrong, Tez?” I asked, concerned. I hadn’t seen Terezi like this since we were both 19 and she was caught in a love triangle with two sides she didn’t want.   
“Vriska…” she said, quietly. Then she straightened up. “It’s probably nothing. Keep reading.” I nodded and went back to the file, making a mental note to ask again after we had talked to the client.   
“Anyways, Vriska Serket, missing since the age of 18. She’d be 24 now, since her birthday is November 8th. Don’t know what her family relationships were like or where she disappeared from, so let’s see if we can get Aranea to tell us what she thinks. It’s probably unlikely that we’ll be able to find her on our own, so we could probably take this to Ampora in Cold Cases at the Police Department-“   
Terezi shook her head. “Ampora’s been reassigned to the Cyber-Crimes division and there’s no guarantee that he’d help us anyways. The guy cares more about getting laid than he does about helping others.”   
“True,” I conceded. Eridan Ampora, former cold-case detective now- for some reason- assigned to cyber-crimes, was quite possibly the least helpful individual I could think of going to for help in this situation. “Well, what about Roxy? From what I’ve heard, the department hasn’t been keeping her very busy. I’m sure she could help us.”   
“Yeah, maybe. Put her down as a ‘possible’ in the files. But I’d rather we work this case alone, Jane, if possible.”   
I considered this for a bit. Obviously Terezi could have some weird personal biz mixed up in this case, and she’d want to keep it private if she did. My partner’s a loud and outgoing person, but when it comes to personal stuff she tends to keep it inside. “OK,” I said, nodding. “We’ll only ask others for help as a last resort.” I was rewarded for this with a smile.   
At that moment there was a knock on the door. “Oh, that must be our client,” I said, scooting my chair over so that Terezi could come and sit on the other side of the desk next to me. As soon as she did, I called “Come in!” A short girl with shoulder-length hair that was so dark it looked almost black and papers clutched in her hand walked in and sat down on the customer chair, smoothing her blue dress, putting down her papers, and adjusting her glasses as she did so. “Aranea Serket, right?” said Terezi.   
The girl nodded. She was 18, I knew from her file, but she looked more than six years younger than Terezi and I- barely old enough to be in high school, let alone college. I held out my hand and she shook it. “Jane Crocker,” I introduced myself, “and this is my partner Terezi Pyrope. Could you reiterate why you’re here?”  
The girl sighed and took off her glasses, polishing them quickly before putting them back on. She couldn’t seem to stop fidgeting at first, but once she started talking she quickly calmed down a bit. “My mother’s name was Spinneret Serket-“ She was interrupted by Terezi.   
“Spinneret? Are you serious?”   
Aranea looked affronted. “Yes, I’m serious, and I realize it was a bad name but she was my mother. Anyways, so my mother grew up in a pretty nasty environment, facing all sorts of adversity. Eventually, through some questionably legal processes, she acquired quite a bit of money, along with her own boating store on the west coast, somewhere near San Diego. She would rent rides to tourists and such, in addition to selling everything the would-be nautical pioneer would want in her store. Almost twenty-six years ago, a man stopped by in the store to buy some equipment for a boating ride he was planning. He was fairly attractive and single, and to my mother, who wanted children without the fuss of marrying anyone or having a serious relationship at all, this seemed like an opportunity. The man, who was Vriska’s father, died in a car accident a few weeks later, but that didn’t matter to my mom. She was already preparing to raise a child to be as strong and independent as she was…”   
As Aranea continued with her story, talking about her mother’s preparations for baby Vriska, Terezi leaned over and whispered in my ear. “How long do you think the exposition will go on before she actually tells us anything important?” she whispered loudly. Aranea clearly heard her and stopped talking to glare, and I scrunched up my face, feeling awkward. I turned to Aranea. “Sorry about my partner, Miss Serket. However, she is right; this information isn’t strictly necessary to what we’re trying to do here.”   
“But I need to explain the backstory behind events!” exclaimed Aranea, obviously fairly confused. “Otherwise how can you expect to understand anything?”   
I sighed inwardly. Aranea had an important case, yes, but she was obviously just bringing us into it so she could ‘advance’ some sort of narrative in her head. Sometimes in this business you get people as clients who’ve spent too much time in fictional and fantasy worlds and can’t really apply to the real world as much anymore. But who was I to tell people real life isn’t a fantasy? After all, I’ve been living mine for two years. And her sister had been missing for quite a while, longer than anything a police detective would care about. I could at least make an effort. “Miss Serket, you’re right. We do need a bit of backstory to try to make headway on finding your sister. However, we do have other clients, so it would be a bit more helpful if you started from further on in the story, perhaps from the year your sister disappeared?”   
Aranea considered this and then nodded. “OK,” she said slowly. “So Vriska was six years older than I was, and I always idolized her. She was more confident than I, and stronger, at least in my eyes, but when she was 18 I started to see in-between the cracks. Sometimes Vriska would come home scratched and bruised and our mother would get a call saying she’d been in a fight, and I eventually figured out that when she blasted the music in her bedroom she was crying. But apart from that there were never any outward signs of sadness; she never said she wanted to leave and seemed to enjoy life where we were. She was involved in live action role-playing at our school and had tons of friends. The only time Vris ever showed dissatisfaction with where we lived was three months before she disappeared. I remember it clearly because it was the day after my birthday. We had just finishedd off the birthday cake and party leftovers when the doorbell rang. I went and opened it, finding on our doorstep Vriska’s on-again-off-again boyfriend, whose name was Tavros. I remember because I discussed Vriska’s disappearance with him many times, and I always thought he blamed himself for it. He was a nice enough boy; I recall him as always being kind to me, although he was very shy and mostly overshadowed by my sister’s almost reckless self-confidence. I called Vriska over and they went out on the porch to talk while I waited indoors. Talk is the wrong verb, actually- it was more like arguing. I distinctly remember hearing him say the words “You can’t control me, I’m still a person!”, and Vriska reacting with anger and force enough that it didn’t matter what she was saying. I remember him telling her to suck it, and then him leaving and Vriska collapsing on the porch with her head in her hands before calling out to him, saying “Wait, Tavros, don’t go.” But he left.” She paused, letting that sink in.   
I recognized the name Tavros somewhere in my mind, but I couldn’t place it. I stole a look at Terezi. Her face was blank, almost impassive, but I know that she does that deliberately to keep others from seeing how she’s feeling. I would definitely have to try and figure out what was making her this way, and cheer her up if possible. I made myself a mental note to bake her a cake. Maybe carrot cake, since she liked that and I had a new recipe I couldn’t wait to try out. Or red velvet cake, which was always a favorite on the Pyrope side. “Go on,” I said to Aranea, trying to encourage her to continue with the story. She kept talking. Even I could admit the endless narrative was making me a little tired, but there could be some important information there.   
“I went outside to comfort my sister and was immediately yelled at and told to go away. I began crying as well, but she couldn’t see as she had buried her face in her hands. As I walked back inside, I heard Vriska whisper to herself “I want to go away, I want to go home.” I don’t know what this meant.”  
I nodded. “It’s possible that your sister felt out of place in your town, like it wasn’t her home. This isn’t unusual really.” She nodded and was about to go on when I stopped her. “Could you tell us what happened the day she disappeared? Briefly, please.” It was getting quite close to quitting time and I could tell Terezi would lose interest in case-working pretty soon. Plus I had to go see someone about fixing the toilet in the apartment we shared upstairs, because we were both very tired of going to the McDonald’s next door to pee. I nodded to Aranea.   
“The day she left was her birthday, November 8th. I remember waking up in the middle of the night because I heard a banging noise, but I was very tired and I figured it was only myself imagining things. I went back to sleep and was woken up again at 5 in the morning to the sound of my mother yelling in shock. I quickly ran to see what the problem was and saw the window in my sister’s room open, with her desk lying on its side next to it. There was a rope hanging out the window, and my sister’s prized possessions- her laptop, her RP booklets, her favorite clothing and all her money- were all gone. Mother called the police and they searched for months, but could never find her. There was never any trace of her. Mother started getting angry whenever Vriska was mentioned; she never wanted to be reminded about what she considered her failure in parenting. Her boating store was shut down and my dreams of going to college were dashed. I knew we never would have had enough money for me to get through without working or getting scholarships, but now we barely had enough to support ourselves. And then on the day I turned 18, there was an anonymous deposit of ten thousand dollars in my bank account. Suddenly I could go to college, and that’s what I’m doing now. I’m convinced it was Vriska who made the deposit. She was the only person apart from me and my mother who possibly knew how. So that’s why I’m looking for her now, to find my sister and thank her.”   
I nodded. “And where and when was the last sighting of your sister?” She thought about it for a bit. “Two years ago, in a town called Harrisville about 50 miles east from here.” “OK,” I said. I know Harrisville from way back. My best friend Roxy lived there when we were growing up and still had an internet friendship. “We’ll check it out. Thanks.” I said to Aranea. She looked concerned. “Is there anything else you want me to do?”   
“Well,” Terezi began, “We do need to discuss our fees, but first there’s the matter of a retainer. Generally people give us a deposit of around three hundred dollars….” Terezi and Aranea haggled over prices for a bit, eventually agreeing on 18.99 per hour, and a deposit of 200 dollars beforehand. When it was over, Aranea asked again, “Is there anything else?”  
I shook my head “We’ll contact you if we need you to do more or tell us anything else. Thanks for the information so far, we’ll take it from here.” She looked slightly disappointed but didn’t say anything. As soon as she had gotten up and left, Terezi sat back in her chair. “That took forever, I’m surprised she ever stopped talking,” she said, and I for once agreed.   
“Jane, are you going to go get our toilet fixed?” I rolled my eyes.   
“Yes, Terezi, going now.” I scooted my chair back, making an unfortunate screeching noise on the linoleum floor that caused Terezi to wince and lift her hands to her ears. “Watch it, will you!” She said emphatically. I held out my hands in a placating gesture as I stood up.   
“Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to do that….” I trailed off as I looked at our desk. “Hey, Terezi, I think Aranea left some of her stuff here. I’ll go give it back to her after I finish talking to the plumbers, OK?”   
Terezi snorted. “Great, well, I guess I’ll make myself a TV dinner then, since if you’re going to go talk to her you probably won’t be back until well after midnight.”   
“Shut up, Terezi,” I admonished as I picked up the papers, “You know you shouldn’t badmouth our clients.”   
“OK, but you have to admit she talks a lot.”   
“I will admit no such thing. I’ll be back soon, see you later! Take care of the office while I’m gone! And remember to feed GCat!” I called as I ran down the stairs and got on my bike. Sure, life as a PI is pretty tough, but for 18.99 an hour? I’ll do anything.


	4. Chapter 4

Past me what the fuck


End file.
